


Bingo Responses

by Magi_Silverwolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Original Work, Sanctuary (TV), Sherlock (TV), The Player's Haven Adventures
Genre: Challenge Response, Gen, Other, Writing Exercise, trope bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 12:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11275023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magi_Silverwolf/pseuds/Magi_Silverwolf
Summary: These are my responses to the Facebook Page MayWeWrite's Bingo Challenge.





	Bingo Responses

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.  
>  **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.  
>  **Author’s Note(s):** I used my current WiPs as springboards for these responses. As such, each response can be a teaser or preview for upcoming chapters or pieces.

Tropes of Legend Bingo

Card 02 Fills

-= LP =-

 _Love Triangle_ (Column 2; Row 4) [517 words]

Excerpt from _The Schrodinger Effect_ , Chapter 6 ( _Conflicted_ ) [Harry Potter]

 

Things since the ball had been tensed in ways that Harry couldn’t really understand. Finding Neville and Luna whispering together had become more common than it ever had, and Harry was happy for them—really, truly, and without reservation. The memory of them in each other’s arms on the dance floor was burned into his memory: their mutual beauty glowing in the abundant candlelight was only matched by the happiness apparent on their faces as they looked into each other’s eyes. Neither had said anything about getting together to Harry, but maybe they were trying to spare him discomfort in the aftermath of Ginny and his breakup. That would be just like them—putting his comfort before their growing closeness—but it really wasn’t needed. He was happy for them.

He refused to say anything about the growing ache he experienced whenever he thought of them finally recognizing that he was just in their way. He didn’t want to lose them, like it seemed that he had Ron and Hermione when he refused to leave with the Weasleys after the row at the ball. Harry recognized that Neville and Luna probably knew him better after these past three months than Ron and Hermione had in their years of friendship, and he knew that kind of friendship was even harder to find than the pseudo-family he had had as a member of the Golden Trio. They make an excellent pair—really one of those couples like the ones from the romance novels he wasn’t supposed to know that Aunt Petunia read. Harry didn’t want to break that up—because he was happy for them, really and truly. At the same time, it hurt to see them together and know that the time was coming that he would be on the outside again, not a part of their trio any more.

It was the ache that made Harry noticed for the first time that the three of them spent a lot of time together even with their individual projects. Ginny used to pull him away from everyone back when they were first dating, saying that they needed to get closer without anyone else getting in the middle. Taking the same logic, he tried to give them space, without being obvious about his reasons. He couldn’t bring himself to go so far as returning to Grimmuald Place, but he did try to sleep in the room that Augusta had given him rather than the one they had shared for the last few months. On the third morning, he awoke to find that they had joined him some time during the night; Luna was tucked under his chin with his arms curled tightly around her while Neville was plastered against his back with _his_ arms around both of them. It was unfairly confusing. They should have been reveling in their time alone, especially as a new couple, and yet the more he tried to pull away, to give them the space he understood new couples needed, the more often he found himself in the company of one or both of them.

-= LP =-

 _Knight Templar_ (Column 2; Row 5) [360 words]

Excerpt from _Legacies of Blood_ , Chapter 4 ( _Monsters_ ) [Harry Potter/Sanctuary/Sherlock]

 

Albus Dumbledore was understandably frustrated. Once more, Harry Potter had failed to return to his home with his aunt. It was annoying that this was so frequent a problem. It was rare that an entire month went by without the boy needing to be fetched. The number of times that various dark wizards had been responsible caused Albus no end of headache. None of them took the boy from within the blood wards, but Albus could not bear the thought of making him an active prisoner in his home. The muggle redirection ward could only do so much after all, especially given that it was already overburdened covering up the elder Dursleys’ blatant neglect of their nephew.

Far more irritating were the times when it _wasn’t_ dark wizards that made the boy not return home. Albus had been forced to put up the aforementioned redirection ward to stop nosy neighbors from interfering with how the Dursleys had to raise the Potter boy. Albus had given them free range to do what was necessary to keep the child humble and obedient. The boy did have a duty to fulfill, after all, and coddling him would not create the mindset necessary for what he would someday need to do. Too many people let sentiment get in the way of what needed to be done. Thank Merlin that Vernon and Petunia were not such fools.

Unfortunately, something seemed to be preventing the locator charms from functioning efficiently this time. They’ve managed to narrow the area to the Northumberland Heath area of Erith, but that was still a large area to cover for the small number of people he could call upon to retrieve the boy discreetly and without question. Minerva was getting particularly wistful about meeting Harry as the time for him to come to Hogwarts drew closer. Without knowing the condition they were going to find the boy in, he couldn’t as the witch to help him without her insistence of keeping him, especially since this appeared to be one of the voluntary non-returns instead of kidnapping.

When will people realize that it would always be better to just listen to him?

-= LP =-

 _Even Evil has Standards_ (Column 2; Row 1) [524 words]

 _Legacies of Blood_ , Post-Chapter 4 [Harry Potter/Sanctuary/Sherlock]

 

Nikola had a type. He wasn’t exactly proud of this fact, but he refused to lie about something that was ultimately so unimportant. Even before he had met his Dove, he knew what he liked in a lover. After his time with _her_ , that ideal had shifted some, more of solidified, making Helen no longer a good fit. He still loved to rile her with the idea of it—especially if James, or better still _Druitt,_ were about to watch as their reactions were even better than Helen’s. The point was that the young woman crossing the room with artfully swishing hips fit every trait in that type.

Eurus Holmes was beautiful and brilliant—and far closer than either of her brothers to their abnormal heritage, making her deadly as well. She kept her blue-green eyes locked on his, mesmerizing like those of a snake. The scent of feminine desire grew cloyingly thick as the escaped sociopath stalked closer. It did little to overpower the tang of the tourists’ spilt blood, an ever-present reminder that Eurus did _not_ share his qualms about killing civilians.

“You smell even better than my Sherlock,” she whispered, reaching for him with still-dripping fingers. Nikola refused to give into the prickling instincts that screamed that he should back away from the obvious threat. One hand sank into his hair, a slick pinky sliding against his nape in a soothing manner that belied the other hand’s claws pressing into the fabric cover his side. When Eurus used the grip to guide him down, he gave into it easily. He barely felt the bed beneath them as something within him relaxed into sluggish softness. “Such a beautiful picture you make—I wonder how lovely your cries will be when I bleed you. In the interest of fairness, I should warn you that you’ve stiff competition there. My Sherlock screamed so prettily before they stole him from me.”

She crawled over him then, her knees settling on either side of his hips. Her weight settled on his groin even as she pressed their chests together. He twitched against lassitude as her scent washed over him. It was so close to _hers_ that he wanted to press upwards and take everything she was offering—it had been _so long_ and he _wanted_ , his blood already beginning to hum---but at the same time, it was _wrong_ , just slightly off. In his confusion, Nikola let her tip his head backwards but couldn’t bring himself to reach for her in any way. She traced the line of his exposed neck with her nose before licking at the dip formed by his clavicle. He shivered when she gave a frustrated growl and then again when she abruptly pulled away.

“Pity,” Eurus muttered. Still fighting free of the instinctive submission, Nikola raised an eyebrow questioningly at her. She flashed him a bit of fang in return. “As tempting as you are, pet, I won’t take another’s property—especially when it would be me taking instead you offering. I’m not a monster.”

“You just killed a man because you had a _whim_ , Eurus.”

“Even I have standards, dear.”

-= LP =-

 _Obfuscating Stupidity_ (Column 2; Row 2) [521 words]

Excerpt from _Of Thieves & Beggars_, Chapter 4 ( _Keepers of Alms_ ) [Harry Potter]

 

Severus had been prepared to hate the boy. The boy represented so much of Severus’ lost hopes that it should have been easy. It was this boy that drew the Dark Lord’s attention to Lily’s doorstep, who bore the face of his tormentor from school, who somehow still had traces of Sirius’ magic on him despite the man’s utter betray of any vow of protection or guidance. Yet it wasn’t easy to hate the child who shivered at loud noises and looked so much smaller than his yearmates, who watched his environment as if expecting an attack at any moment. Severus settled in to watch the boy in return, determined to make nothing but an informed decision on the boy’s personality, regardless of Dumbledore’s tales of guardian indulgence and precocious rambunctiousness.

By the time the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins had their first Potions class, Severus had thought himself prepared for the boy. The professors who had had the boy had all shared how blandly _normal_ Harry Potter was despite his hero status. They were quick to point out that all first years started on a similar level and Potter really wasn’t all that different in that regard, but Severus had spent much of his life reading what people said without words. They had expected more than a normal first year and were now disappointed that their little savior was just like any other child. It would have disappointed him as well, if for different reasons. Lily had been exceptional and if her child was less than that, it would have been disgraceful to her memory and mostly likely because of Potter’s _inferior_ genetics.

The child who entered his classroom that day was not an ordinary child. He was so far from an ordinary child, that Severus could not fathom how the other professors had missed it all week. The boy’s pretense of ignorance was not exceptionally done. _Someone_ had conditioned the child against demonstrating knowledge, a lesson from which the swotty Gryffindor would benefit. Yet for each question he had flung at the boy there had been a flash of recognition that told Severus that the boy knew or _thought_ he knew the answer. Never once did the boy waver from his declaration of ignorance, and never once did he bit back.

The final straw was seeing the boy _almost_ correcting the Finnegan and Longbottom pair before they destroyed their cauldron. Potions was too dangerous to allow hesitancy to continue in anyone, and that hesitancy in _Lily’s son_ was repugnant beyond belief. For once the persona he had built at Dumbledore’s insistence would be useful. No one questioned when Severus had blamed the brat of deliberately letting Finnegan ruin their potion. When the boy’s shoulders hunched instead of straightening defiantly, Severus knew he had his work cut out for him if he wanted to foster the bit of Lily’s brilliance that hid in the brat, especially Dumbledore’s stance on the matter.

Someone may want the boy to appear stupid, but by the Mother, Severus would not let him list into _actual_ stupidity. He had a debt to repay, after all.

-= LP =-

 _The Dragon_ (Column 2; Row 3) [542 words]

Except from _Mesmerizing Masks_ , Post-Treasures Arc of the _Austra_ Group [The Player Haven Adventures]

 

The scene before them was almost exactly as they expected. Aztanth elegantly sprawled across the throne dominating the dais at the other end of the room. The elf’s silvery hair shone in the artificial light filling the room, glittering like a bug trap. His golden eyes sparked with humor as he spotted the group entering the room. Titania stood on the ground before the dais. The only thing that betrayed her readiness for combat was the already exposed claws extending from her hands. But it was Rajani that captured Misami’s focus, more than the other forces in the room.

The kitsunemimi knelt beside Aztanth’s throne, the picture of demure submission. Something within her screamed in denial and warning. Rajani hated to be told what to do—refusing to bend to anyone’s will, even their Mother’s. Rajani was an untamable force of nature, like the fire she wielded so effortlessly. Even knowing that Aztanth claimed to have power over the ex-priestess, Misami refused to believe what she was seeing now.

“See, my pet,” Aztanth said as he sunk his long fingers into Rajani’s black curls. He smiled at them. Misami wanted nothing more than to scratch the sanctimonious smirk off his face. “I told you our precious kitten would come—and look, she even brought _friends_! How kind of her, don’t you think?”

“You’re borrowing more trouble than you know, elf,” Kintaro stated. The nekomimi sailor shook his head in mock disappointment. “Misami hates being called a kitten, and Shiki gets testy when she’s upset. Best to just give up now. Save yourself the pain of their revenge.”

“Are you really such a weak fool?” Titania snapped. The tigress looked closed to attacking without an order. “There is no way that the healer would let her mutt slip his leash enough to hurt anyone. He poses no threat.”

“Oh, my fiery Dragon,” Aztanth commented lightly. “You left the party at the inn too soon, I fear. You did not see what the Lycanian did to those who struck the healer after she revived them per her Oaths.” His fingers clenched in Rajani’s hair, making the woman release a moan. His gold eyes swept over Misami in a proprietary way. Misami fought the urge to be sick. “Besides, I suspect that the leash goes the other way. The kitten bends so well to her Mother’s will, after all.”

“Now _that’s_ a kinky thought,” Kintaro declared. Shiki growled a warning to the ex-captain. One of these days, her wolf-demon was going to give into his jealousy and maul the other nekomimi. Misami may even refuse to heal him…at least for a little while. The idiot seemed to be unable to turn off his flirting, even when someone had a knife to his throat—that particular instance got him stabbed, so one would _think_ he had learned better. Aztanth gave a dramatic yawn.

“I tire of this game,” the elven puppetmaster declared. He waved his free hand imperiously. “Take care of them, Titania, and remember that we only need Misami revivable. Have fun.”

“Oh, I _will_ , Master,” Titania replied with a flash of fang. Faster than the eye could track, she sprung forward—and Misami’s perception of events blurred into a flurry of claws and pain.


End file.
